


Free as a Bird

by 69gloomiest_ghost69



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Beatles - Freeform, F/M, I’ve lost me bloody mind, M/M, McLennon, The Beatles - Freeform, idek what else to tag, please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28753011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/69gloomiest_ghost69/pseuds/69gloomiest_ghost69
Summary: John suffers from a motor tic syndrome and is reluctant to open up about it. He manages to keep quiet until unspoken feelings, anxieties and grief bubble their way to the surface. Paul tries his best to understand.-
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, McLennon - Relationship
Kudos: 19





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Just letting you know here that I myself suffer from motor tic syndrome and am writing from personal experience. This kind of thing is different for everyone and I am speaking only from my own life. I feel like this kind of thing isn’t talked about often and it would be cool to share here. Anyway, enjoy and comment! I’d love to hear what you think so far.

John awoke, joints stiff and head pounding. 

_Fuck_

The small analog clock on his bedside read half nine. He hurriedly jerked himself up, wincing at the cold as he tore off his bedsheets. Not even bothering to fully recall the night before, John rushed to the bathroom picking up whatever clothes he could find along the way and nearly tripping over his own feet.

Frustrated huffing and cursing filled the air as the boy hurried to make himself look presentable. Combing his hair and brushing his teeth simultaneously, John tried to remember his dream. An all too familiar itch started to crawl around under his skin as he combed through his hair. The itch started from his chest and moved outwards as he continued his ministrations. John barley had time to recognise the makeshift warning sign before he was jerking his head to the left uncontrollably and hissing while he did so.

He paused. 

_It’s getting worse_.

Frustration didn’t even begin to describe the intense emotions John had been feeling over the past few months. Rage would’ve been a far better word to use, but John wanted to steer clear of that label.

It had started off minor, a scrunch of his nose or a rapid blink could relieve the itch under his skin. At first he’d thought nothing of it, dismissing the odd occurrences and getting on with his life. But it only got worse. Soon those minor facial movements couldn’t satisfy that itch. Violent head jerking, shoulder shrugging uncontrollably became a normal part of Johns daily life. Sometimes even vocalising was beyond his control; there were times when he was especially anxious or upset, he’d find himself practically barking when the itch prickled through his body. A lot of the time he didn’t even feel the dreaded itch before twitching in some way, this scared him immensely. No warning meant, no possibility of covering it up. Some days it wasn’t so bad, giving in to small head nods and subtle hums that drew him no attention. These days gave him hope, that the worst of this thing was behind him and he could get back to feeling normal again. (As normal as John Lennon could feel.) But every time he let himself hope, it got worse again, and he inevitably found himself trying to stifle uncontrollable yelling into his pillow.

He told no one. He let them dismiss the odd behaviour as “typical Lennon” and get on with their lives. John found his twitches became more infrequent when he was distracted; and John, being the life of the party, was almost always distracted around other people. Besides, telling someone made it _real_. It meant this thing, whatever it was, wasn’t just something he’d dreamt up in his head. It would make it undeniably _real_.

Miraculously, the twitches deserted him when he played music. His brain was occupied, there was no room for worry or doubt. It was his safe place. John let himself surrender to the melody time after time, and in turn, his songs were uninterrupted and flowed nicely; unlike the jerky, freeze frame reality of his life.

With a defeated sigh, John surveyed his reflection in the mirror. He liked nothing he saw. Running his hands through his auburn hair, he wished for the millionth time that it would go away. It wouldn’t. He knew that well enough by now.

-

Dressed and still barley awake, John strode out into the street. He’d made plans to meet with his mother and he was already half an hour late.

 _Probably preoccupied with her other children anyway_.

John squeezed his eyes shut and forced the unpleasant thoughts from his head. He loved Julia. With every passing day he could feel their relationship blooming more and more. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved to feel loved. Julia made him feel loved. She’d taught him to play the banjo and a little piano too. John was afraid of becoming too attached to her, although she’d told him that she “was here to stay baby. Couldn’t get me outta your life if you wanted to.” She’d then pulled him into a very interesting attempt at a tango (John being the female.) He smiled softly at the memory of her words and realised he was starting to believe them.

The cold nipped at him as he walked, ground crunching with each step. John felt around in his pockets, looking for the familiar curve of his glasses. Alas, he’d forgotten them on his bedside table. Curse Mimi for not reminding him as she usually did. By then, it was too late to go back. He quickly made peace with the fact that Julia’s face was going to be blurry around the edges that day.

_At least I get to see her bloody face._

John gave in to another painful head jerk and walked on.

-

There was no trace of anger on Julia’s face when she opened the door. She just smiled brightly and jumped forward to embrace her son. John forgot his foul mood at her touch, and embraced her back even tighter.

Julia pulled away and laughed, auburn curls bouncing around her face. Her bubbly nature was contagious, John couldn’t help the genuine smile that crept across his face when she spoke. “There’s my boy.”

-

They spent the day talking and catching up as they hadn’t seen each other in over a week. John’s worries vanished into the haze as he listened to his mother talk enthusiastically about her paintings and plants she’d seen on her nature walks. Julia spoke with her whole body, eyes bright and shining , hands creating images before Johns eyes.

John in turn told Julia about his progression in guitar playing and how his band was going. She listened intently, making sure John knew she genuinely cared about his interests and ambitions.

The hours passed and the two of them filled it doing whatever they pleased. Occasionally venturing to the record player to turn up whatever happened to be playing. The day was filled with warmth and shades of yellow, as Julia and her son continued to make up for the years they’d lost. John felt the itch under his skin a few times, though it seemed smaller and less threatening than when he was alone; he managed to relieve it subtly, given he was so at ease.

John looked at Julia as she danced around the room. Sun reflecting off her auburn hair as she sang and swayed. Warmth radiated off her as she grinned at John urging him to join her. He obliged, laughing loudly and moving his feet to the beat. He felt at home, not even the ill timed twitch of his head in that moment could bring his spirits down. A realisation dawned upon him, a realisation that would’ve terrified him a not even a week ago; he was starting to need Julia, truly need her. As a companion, as someone to care for him, as a mother. Surprisingly, he found he was okay with that.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, Paul McCartney.

Then of course, there was the  _ Paul  _ problem. 

John’s feelings surrounding Paul had been no less than confusing. 

Paul was a mate, a friend, a companion at most; so why did John get butterflies every time that younger lad walked in a room? Why did he feel sick at the thought of Paul being with someone else? Why did he want to hold him in the hopes of erasing any pain? 

John didn’t want to do those things with any of his other mates. Paul was different.

His feelings for Paul were becoming overwhelming. He found himself thinking about Paul’s face at absurd hours of the morning, imagining how he’d fit into his arms.After weeks, imagining inevitably turned to wishing and John was quite disgusted at that discovery.  


The first time John had considered he was at least a _little_ bit queer for Paul had been four months earlier. 

_ “Fuck.” John practically glared out the window, seeking answers in the rain. He’d left Paul’s house in a rush that afternoon, unable to understand why Paul’s intense gaze made him so nervous. John wasn’t one to care what people thought, maybe Paul was becoming the exception.  _

_ He’d left Forthlin road so abruptly, that he’d left his guitar and notebook behind. A frustrated huff left Johns mouth as he flopped back onto the sofa and laid his head in his hands, effectively ruining his perfect teddy boy quiff. He’d been lucky to miss the rain, but it wasn’t surprising since he practically sprinted home, head swirling with inescapable thoughts of Paul. The rain was still bucketing now, small droplets racing each other on the windowpane in front of the auburn haired boy.  _

_ Three loud raps on the front door made John jump in his seat.  _

_ Mimi must’ve forgotten the key.  _

_ John reluctantly got out of the chair, muscles protesting as he did so, and padded to the front door.  _

_ “Mimi, why don’t you just keep a spare key in-“ _

_ On the front doorstep of mendips, stood a soaking wet Paul McCartney holding Johns guitar case. _

_ John gaped. “What in the fuck are you doing son? It’s bucketing.” _

_ Despite shivering quite violently, Paul smiled brighter than the sun and John felt his stomach drop immediately; this was the exact thing he’d been trying to escape.  _

_ Paul was so beautiful. Rainwater dripping off inky black curls, sliding down his effortlessly long eyelashes and nestling in his Cupid’s bow before proceeding down his plump lips. John found himself staring and had to tear his eyes away from those petal like lips. He looked instead into Paul’shazel eyes, which really wasn’t much of an improvement in the grand scheme of things. _

_ “Ya left it at me ‘ouse an’ I know how ye’ get when Ye’ can’t play yer guitar.” Paul explained, cheeks and nose a rosy pink from the cold. He held out the soaking wet case to John.  _

_ John was still quite gobsmacked by the whole ordeal.  _

_ God Paul, you’re making it harder and harder not to like ye’ _

_ He realised Paul was still holding out the case and quickly took it from his shaking hands.  _

_ “You’re going to get sick, Ye’ daft git.” John protested, trying to focus on the stupidity of Paul’s acts, rather than how fucking gorgeous he was looking in the moment.  _

_ “Oh johnny.” Paul whispered, reaching up to cup Johns cheek in his hand. Paul’s hand was freezing and John felt his heart start pounding out of his chest.  _

_ Then Paul continued... _

_ ”Yeh can jus’ thank me and be done with it.” Paul said rolling his eyes and giving John a playful slap on his cheek, effectively breaking the spell apparently only John was under.  _

_ “Uh y-yeah thanks kid.” He internally flinched at calling Paul “kid”. Despite being two years his junior, Paul was arguably more mature than John in most peoples eyes. (Even John’s) _

_ Paul cocked his head to the side, in a puppy like fashion, droplets of water sparkling as they continued to drip off his hair. It took all Johns self control not to push Paul up against the nearest wall and kiss him until they were gasping for breath.  _

_ The sudden thought was what made John realise, he might be a little queer for Paul. The thought didn’t scare him as much as he expected it would because who in their right mind could not have a crush on Paul McCartney? _

_ He was as gorgeous on the outside as he was on the inside. He cycled to Johns house in the rain to spare him from a shitty mood for Christ’s sake.  _

_ “Ye’ alright there John?” Paul asked eyeing John and brushing his wet locks out of his face.  _

_ Johns eyes snapped up and landed once again on Paul’s lips. “Yeah ‘course.”  _

_ “Do I have something on me face?”  _

_ John smirked, summoning confidence and an effortlessly cool demeanour; it was all fake of course, but John could act. _

_ “Apart from beauty?” John said, not being entirely sarcastic.  _

_ And then Paul’s confidence faltered and he blushed, taken aback.  _

_ John rejoiced at the sight, having concealed his feelings with a simple remark and made Paul blush in the process.  _

_ “I’ve gotta go anyway.” Paul muttered, eyes trained on the floor and a faint blush on his cheeks. “Da’ will have mehead if he knows I’ve been out in the storm.” _

_“Oh...” Johns shoulders softened and he mirrored Paul, suddenly taking a keen interest in his feet. He couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed, he’d been about to offer Paul a towel and a hot cup of tea. “Alright well I’ll see you at_ practice yeah?” _His tone was almost hopeful._

_ Paul grinned once again, eyes regaining their signature sparkle; completely oblivious to what he was doing to John.  _

_“Wouldn’t miss it for the world._ ”

in actual fact Paul did miss that practice, having come down with a serious head cold. John had been anticipating Paul’s arrival when a sorry looking George slinked in, muttering the reason behind his absence. George had been expecting an outburst of some sort when John heard the news and was already bracing for it. The younger boy was pleasantly surprised (but rather confused) when John laughed softly and shook his head standing up to start the practice. George didn’t even bother asking why John had that silly lovestruck grin on his face for the rest of practice. 


End file.
